WHTRJ? Shorts
by MozaWesterburg
Summary: From the day he started Polyneux, the kids knew one thing: Robot was the strangest kid they've ever known. And he's had a strange effect on everybody in his own way. He's given the naive underdog Socks someone to mentor when it comes to how to be a teenager, and talk to girls. And he's made Shannon see the world, as well as herself, and in a new way. Hope you enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: Strange Moves In

Like most kids, there's nothing then third grader Socks Morton liked more on quiet, breezy summer days than taking out his bike for a spin through town.

Feeling adventurous, he looked for different routes to and from places, even if that meant sometimes going the long way to get there. The reliable route to the elementary school he took with his friends only lasted five blocks. However, he quickly figured out the bends and turns of the suburb so that he could explore new blocks, meet new kids, and maybe even find something unusual.

There was one place on north Cherry Street that always caught his eye. Right in the middle of the block there had been a tall, grassy square of land, where once sat the creepiest old house known to the kids of town. No one lived there—it was condemned years ago for lack of safety and never rebuilt. The current next door neighbors didn't quite know what the story behind it was, so the most believed rumor about it was that the property owners must have died or just forgotten about it. As the years ticked by, the grass continued to grow bright green and yellow and into swamp grass heights, and the wood-bare exterior chipped away, sliver by sliver.

Socks knew of that house well growing up. It had been in that dilapidated state since before he was born. He remembered his parents taking the route down Cherry Street quite often while on outings, and looking out the window in the backseat of their car and seeing the house become more and more weather-beaten, until at last it was rumored to be haunted. Chances were good in that it was the oldest building in the whole neighborhood, and touching the place just seemed like bad karma.

And then it happened. A development. A tall wood board fence shot up out of the ground, surrounding the abandoned building and signifying that the property was under new ownership. Drills. Saws. Hours upon hours of noise. The construction was loud, and it seemed to go on constantly. Socks felt sorry for the neighbors having to put up with the racket, but was outwardly thankful he didn't live anywhere so close by. Board by board, the untouchable old house was carefully taken down. By the time the summer was over, the haunted house had been replaced by a disturbingly simplistic square-shaped structure, the outside wrapped in protective tape that, every few feet, reading the initials "JNZR." Yet the talk then was nothing compared to what came as soon as the tape began to peel off. Children and adults alike were shocked to behold that the strange box that had erected was plated, not in wood, paint, or brick, but entirely in metal. The ordinary suburb had been planted with an unsightly, two story steel box.

When he got old enough to spend time outside by himself, Socks passed by the fence everyday. As his visits increased, so did his curiosity about it. One day, then ten year olds Mitch and Cubey met up with him on that very block. And while none of them had ever talked about it before, gossip about The Cube was inevitable.

"Dude, what do you think that thing's going to be for?" Socks asked them.

"What if it's a top-secret hideout for things the FBI doesn't want us to know," said Cubey, leaning casually over the handlebars, "like alien bodies, and Bigfoot's corpse-they say it works to hide stuff in plain site."

Mitch flipped his head back in the effort to show that he was rolling his eyes. "Oh, brother."

"You guys remember that creepy old house that used to be there?" asked Socks.

"Yeah, I do," Cubey replied. "I kinda miss it. Remember when we used to sneak inside and bang around and stuff?"

"Uh-huh. Oh, remember that time when we thought we heard a ghost, and Cubey tripped on the broken floorboard on the way out?" Mitch snickered.

"That was about as funny as vomiting on your own mother," Cubey pouted.

Mitch turned his head and took in the sight of the Cube-or what he and his friends could see, sitting right up against the tall fence-which was just a few feet of windowless wall before a flat roof. Though they couldn't tell because of his long hair, putting his hand above his forehead was a sign that Mitch was squinting in the sunlight. "At least we don't have to worry about any new kids at school."

"I'm not so sure about that," Socks rationalized, still feeling somehow that the Cube's purpose was as residential as any house on that block.

"Maybe it's going to be a mansion, or something," Mitch guessed with a shy voice. "You know how millionaires like building weird houses."

"Oh, come _on_ ," Cubey whined. "What bozo would want to live in a giant metal box?"

"You mean a giant storage shed for the FBI's secrets makes so much more sense?" Mitch snapped back.

"Besides," Cubey continued, "There's not even fifty feet in between the houses. What kind of mansion would fit there?"

A momentary pause occurred. Finally, Mitch said the only thing that came to his mind: "Aaaaaa... mini-mansion?"

Cubey smiled. "Filled with mini-muffins?"

"Yeah!" Mitch shouted. "Aw, you had to say that, man? Now I want some mini-chocolate muffins!"

"I know, right?" Cubey lifted one of his feet onto a pedal and grabbed hold of his handle bars. "Let's race down over to the corner store-last person there pays!"

"You're on." Mitch hopped back onto his own bike seat just as Cubey took off. "Coming Socks?"

"Yeah, I'll catch up with you guys," said Socks slowly, eyes lingering at a spot above the fence where the corner of the metal structure glinted in the sunlight. A brown bird landed on the roof and began to tweet merrily. Despite its strangeness, the building seemed to possess an air of meek intentions. And for the next two years, Socks would be much too preoccupied with other things in his life to give the weird house-as he was sure it was a house-much more thought after that day.

Yet that didn't keep him from feeling uneasy when he peeked through the wood boards before he took off, and saw a new, little yellow skateboard sitting on the freshly mowed grass.

* * *

 **This series of shorts is just exploring a few scenes right before and after the Pilot takes place. These shorts were nearly all completed, I just ironed them out a little.**

 **In this short, Socks has somewhat more intuition about the significance of Robot moving in, possibly by Robot being more of a kindred spirit to him.**

 **Comment/Critique are always helpful. Hope it's decent!**

 ** _Whatever Happened to Robot Jones?_ © Greg Miller & Cartoon Network**


	2. Chapter 2: Strange Makes a Friend

The second day of school went by at a crawl.

Robot was beginning to think his task was going to be impossible. Nobody would speak to him—they made it seem like a chore to do anything to acknowledge his existence but to gawk and shudder, including the teachers. How was he supposed to understand the intricacies of teenage society if the humans refused to interact with him?

There appeared to be so much more to learn about people than he used to think. He hoped that during lunchtime, the one strange school period where noise reigned supreme, that he would get another chance to speak with one of them.

But by the time he got to the cafeteria that day, all the tables were occupied. There was one with just two kids on either ends of the table that Robot decided to approach.

"Excuse me," he asked politely, "May I take a seat here?"

The white-blond on the left with a backwards red baseball cap tossed his bangs from his face to get a better look at Robot. "Uh... sure."

Smiling, Robot set down his tray and slid into the side of the table with the blond, but almost as soon as he sat down, both kids grabbed their trays and briskly made their escape from the table.

It looked like he wouldn't be doing any in-depth studies on humans that day. As he sadly poked and prodded his lunch, he was surprised when, out of nowhere, another kid grabbed the seat next to him. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Huh?" Robot asked with surprise, looking up from the tray filled with electronic edibles not fit for human consumption.

"You're Robot, right?" said the curly haired kid with the green jacket.

Robot scanned the boy's face. "Yes, and you are..." He tried to recall his video memory of the class attendance.

"Socks," the boy told him. "They call me Socks."

"Socks?" Robot repeated for clarity, "That name does not appear in my digital roster."

"It's a nickname."

Robot raised his eyebrow.

"Tim's my real name," Socks explained.

"Oh!" Robot said finally. "Timothy Morton!"

"Right," Socks replied slowly, nodding to Robot as he would to a toddler.

The human was confusing Robot terribly. But seeing him struggle with introductions made Socks all the more eager to get to know him.

"It's gotta be lonely standing here all by yourself," Socks said with a friendly tone. "My friends—Mitch, you know him, too, from pre-algebra, and that's Cubey. He's a video game expert."

Robot's eyes flashed with interest. "Video games?"

He didn't realize that humans were interested in electronic games. This new information excited him.

He peered over at the spiky-haired boy with red rimmed glasses, thumbs tapping away at a bulky but portable game system, one that Robot himself had seen before. His size was another thing that surprised Robot: He didn't think that there were humans at this age who were that short—shorter than him, even. Observing the vast sea of skinny, lanky children made him feel insecure-probably his first real moment of adolescent self-consciousness. However, it appeared that Cubey, in those moments, could care less about his size, and the same could be said about his companion.

Settled just next to him was that other, long haired boy from math class, who now had a pair of large headphones stuck to his ears, helping Cubey out with the game, shouting directions over his shoulder.

"Left. Okay, left. Left."

"I'm going left," Cubey said with annoyance.

"Jump. Jump! Forward. Watch out for the mushroom. Jump! Get the coin! Get the coin!"

"I can't get the coin without back-"

BO-WASH!

"Aw, man!" Mitch cried.

"Bummer," said Cubey. "Wanna play again?"

"You know it!"

Robot watched them with fascination. Their teamwork was dysfunctional, and yet it looked so... enjoyable. He wondered what it would be like to have someone encourage him while he played a video game. Usually, he gamed all to his lonesome. Come to think of it, Robot always played alone. There was nobody at the factory competent enough to understand the ethics of a complicated video game when he lived there, and there was certainly nobody at home who would bother to play with him. His always busy parents wouldn't waste their time, and even if Grampz' negative disposition didn't make him such a displeasure to be around, he would be much fun of a playmate, either, with his physically grounded factor.

"Look," Socks broke Robot's train of thought, "Why don't you come sit with us today?"

Realizing this was his first real opportunity to communicate with humans about something more relevant than academics to his prime objective, Robot smiled eagerly. "Alright!"

With his hand on his shoulder, Socks introduced his new friend to the group."Guys, this is Robot."

"What's up?" Mitch asked friendly.

"So what's your deal, " asked Cubey, not beating around the bush. "Are you, like, a real robot?"

"Of course I am," answered Robot. "What else would I be?"

"Ooo," said the short boy with glasses. "That's sick."

Robot frowned. "I'm sorry. I did not realize I made you ill." He knew that sometimes humans were intimidated by his appearance, but Robot didn't want to physically do harm to anyone in their presence. "I'll go now." He prepared to stand up, but Socks pressed a hand to his shoulder.

"No wait! Robot, 'sick' is a good thing."

Robot turned his head. "You don't say?"

"Yeah," said Cubey. "Like when someone says 'that's phat'. It means something good."

Robot rubbed his chin until a smile appeared. "I think I get it now."

"There ya go," Socks praised, nudging him in the shoulder. "Oh, don't look now, but Jeannette Fowler is heading our way"

All of the boys but Robot obeyed, looking preoccupied with their lunches. Luckily for them, the tall girl with the bouncing ponytail didn't seem to notice the shot automaton who was burning a hole in the back of her head.

"Robot, I told you not to look!" Socks hissed under his breath when the girl was out of earshot.

Robot snapped to attention. "I was trying to figure out if that was the girl I shouldn't be looking at."

Socks smacked his forehead.

"Eh, I don't blame you," said Mitch. "She's kind of hard not to look at."

"You said it," agreed Cubey with a sigh.

"Yes," Robot confirmed, "Those cheerleaders I've observed are quite fat, aren't they?"

The next table over, three very skinny girls in Polyneux cheerleading outfits fell silent. They looked down at their lunches for a moment before all getting up to dump them in the trash can. Robot's smile fell again. "Oops."

With the bell only a minute away, Socks decided to wrap up this rocky conversation with a question he'd been meaning to ask. "It's only your second day. How about meeting us outside the Arcade after school? We'll, uh, hang out some more."

Robot considered this carefully. Companionship with them would almost guarantee him the data he needed to collect. And besides, he was already growing fond of these humans. They were positive, lay-back and funny—a comfort Robot hadn't experienced yet. He couldn't understand why they were as unpopular as they claimed to be, especially since they seemed to know everything about proper human interaction.

Before Socks, no humans at that school would even speak to him voluntarily, and now Robot found himself surrounded by true, potential allies. An opportunity like this was too good to pass up. "Affirmative. I shall meet you there," Robot answered with a smile.

"All right!" Socks shouted as he, Mitch and Cubey stood up."We'll see you later, Robo-man. Don't worry, you'll get better at this."

"Goodbye," Robot waved to them.

He watched them head out of the cafeteria, talking with each other. Robot sat back and thought about what Socks had said as if it had been a class lecture. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about Socks telling him he'd "get better at it"-or exactly what "it" was. But if it meant he finally had someone to talk to about his many questions, Robot was optimistic about his stay at Polyneux.

If he could count on them.

* * *

 **This short is a hypothetical version of how Robot became formally introduced to Socks, who would become his best friend.  
**

 **As always, comments/criticism are a huge help.**

 ** _Whatever Happened to Robot Jones?_ © Greg Miller & Cartoon Network**


	3. Chapter 3: Strange Falls in Love

"How much do you know about girls, Socks unit?"

This was perhaps the hardest question Robot ever had to ask Socks. Or anybody, at that point. Along with his careful recording of the junior high school atmosphere, Robot was absorbed in another study—one entirely of personal interest. As he became accustom to the monotonous cycle of the school day, it became easier for his mind to drift to that subject, everywhere from the classroom to the P.E. locker room. And the teachers were just staring to notice the once extremely diligent student was even harder to command attention from than the other children.

Truthfully, the girl with the headgear occupied every other thought that crossed his mind. It was making it harder, both to complete his daily school work, and his home assignment of learning about human behavior on top of that. But, it was up to him how he spent his day, he might just toss everything else in the trash bin on his hard drive and think all day about just how to introduce himself to her.

By the end of the third week, Robot still didn't even know her name. They weren't in any of the same classes together (at least not that semester), and he hadn't overheard anyone call her over.

The first lunch hour of his school career had been a disaster, and he sure wasn't going to repeat that. One day, he used this as an excuse to leave his newfound trio of friends in the cafeteria while he looked for a private location to plug in and not be harassed. Because they cared about him, they did not question it.

With fifty three minutes of free passing through the halls, he gazed out the window facing facing the football field and happened to notice the number of kids sitting outside for their lunch hour. In the middle of the courtyard was a short, full tree with a wide area of shade. And who would be sitting right there by the trunk, doing her homework except _her_. Robot halted and pressed himself up against the glass, trying to get a better look, but it was a long distance away. Some force of will, maybe the sun's rays, maybe the serenity of the world outside that cold school, maybe the girl herself, pulled Robot through the door.

Outside, the sky was a cloudless blue, and the warm sun fell on the automaton's metallic skin with a welcoming shine. The courtyard was bordered around the school by trees, and surrounded by open grass, which stretched uphill into the neighboring sports fields. Working up his courage, he walked the sidewalk circling the main building, which lead directly to a brick equipment shed, attached to the baseball field behind the dug out. Robot walked down the ramp into the dug out and leaned over the railing by peering into the distance from the safety of the dark.

Robot didn't move from that spot for a while. Actually, he didn't leave until he saw her and the other kids make their way inside at the sound of the passing period bell. For the rest of that week, she returned to that same spot for her lunch hour, and so he did the same. There he would observe her with the precious carefulness He shifted nervously every time she flipped her hair out of her face as she looked down at her paper. Every time her head moved in the slightest direction towards him, he ducked down behind the rails.

He was absorbed in her.

And from under the shadow of the dugout's roof, he was safely hidden. He could watch her in peace—at least until that Friday, when a unexpected voice interrupted his studies.

"Hey there, Robot."

Robot nearly fell forward over the railing in shock. He flipped around, heels still on the guardrail, wide eyes on the person who had watched him spying.

"Oh, greetings Timothy Morton unit."

"Please," he raised his hand with a smile, "Just call me Socks."

Robot didn't get why the boy and the other children insisted on calling him by that name, but he had no right to judge a culture he just recently began to study up close. He shrugged without turning back around. "Very well, Socks unit. Whatever you say."

"You've been bailing on us at lunch a lot," Socks said as he hopped up on the rail with Robot. "Something wrong?"

"No. Why do you ask?" asked Robot worriedly.

"Well, because I know it's hard being the new guy in the neighborhood, especially when you still don't really know anybody. If you want, I could introduce you to some people. That's what Steve did for me when I first started here-before he stopped coming out of the stall in the first floor bathroom, anyway."

A tiny smile broke the little robot's face. "You know quite a lot, Socks Unit."

"Well, I don't like to brag," Socks went on, popping the collar of his jacket, "But I've been around."

"Can I ask you for some information, then? It's quite important for the, uh, subject I am studying." He nervously scratched paint off of the railing as he spoke.

"Sure. What is it?"

"How much do you know about girls, Socks?"

Socks' smile deflated, his usually pink cheeks going a bit pale. "Oh. Uh... I know... stuff."

"You must know something," Robot insisted. "You have a multitude of information necessary for me to complete my daily tasks."

Robot reminded Socks of his little brother pressuring him to play a game on a rainy day. Treating him like a superior quickly gave Socks his confidence back. "Yeah... yeah, I do know some things." He whipped out a cocky grin yet again. "In fact, I know all the names of the girls who go here." He said it as if he had dated all said girls. Of which he had dated, there were none, actually.

"All of them?" Robot asked with blinking eyes. "Well..." He turned and pointed far out of the baseball field, to the court yard. "What do you know about that one?"

Socks covertly bent his neck around the corner, looking for an obvious target of Robot's pointed claw. "Kari? The one with the pigtails?"

Suddenly, Robot panicked. "No, n-n-not her..."

"Who?" He squinted and looked harder, quickly narrowing in on one person whom, if he could recognize from the distance, he would have quickly dismissed as a possibility. But his eyes were not as good as Robot's, so he didn't know who he was looking for. A sudden shake under his shoes caused Socks to grab the rail with freight. "Um, Robot, you alright?"

Robot had begun to shudder and cause the railing to tremble. "Oh, Socks unit, in all my existence, I don't think I have ever felt this way. Tell me, do you think she is already linked with a male unit?"

"Uhhh... I don't _think_ so…" Socks said while rubbing his still didn't know who Robot was talking about, but going steady at their age was unlikely. Socks scratched the back of his neck and cleared his throat. "Well, uh... anything about her in particular that stands out?"

"She is unlike any human I have ever seen," Robot said with increased anxiety, but less shaking. "Her outward design has activated my hormone programming."

"What...?"

Robot paused and thought over how to put it into words the human would understand. He decided on a phrase that was frequently used in a teen magazine he'd picked up for translation purposes. "She's hot."

Hearing this in Robot's monotone, Socks couldn't restrain his laughter. Nevertheless, seeing Robot's love-struck face-the most emotion-filled expression Socks had yet to see on the machine-he did acknowledge to himself that Robot's affections were real. He seemed a cool little guy, and Socks wanted to see to it that the automaton got the one thing he longed for. However, he knew that it was going to be a challenge.

Even for being the new kid, Robot seemed to be finding it especially hard fitting in at the school. Naturally, Socks and his crew of two, Mitch and Cubey—the last miscellaneous bunch of rejects of the school—picked him up. Right away, Socks could see the benefits in having a real live robot for a friend. After getting sent to detention, Robot's first impression to Socks on his first day was nothing short of impressed. Anyone who could get neat and sober McMcMc to explode like that deserved some friends, and Socks would have jumped for the chance to be that first friend. Taking Robot under his wing and guiding him through middle school was going to be a blast. He could already tell.

"Well, if you like her, Robot, you should just go talk to her." Socks patted him on the back. "I'll tell you what: Let's go over there and I'll break the ice."

Socks hopped off the railing while holding Robot's wrist, and nearly broke his arm-Suddenly, no part of Robot's body was movable. "What's wrong?"

Robot appeared to be stuck on the rail like a cat with nails in a tree. "I'm not ready," was all he could mutter, mortified.

"Wow, you've really got it bad," Socks said, thoughtfully. He certainly couldn't just let Robot go up to this girl and make a stammering fool out of himself. "Hmm... Oh, I've got it! Why don't I introduce you first to some girls you don't know, then you'll know what to say when you talk to the girl that you really like. Seem fair?"

Robot did not utter a reply, but the offer was enough to get him to climb down from the railing with a timid motion.

"There ya go! Now let's motor!"

He pulled Robot so quickly out of the dugout that the machine didn't even have time to think about locking his joints in place, let alone rethinking the offer. Robot wasn't exactly keen on trying to make conversation with strange human girls he didn't know, especially due to how hard it was to just make a friend. But, his reputation couldn't get any worse, could it?

They hurried up the path onto the courtyard. The blond boy led his new companion passed white picnic tables and circles of students on the grass, sending greetings to the kids he knew by name left and right. Sometimes he would have to stop and briefly explain the new student robot to the kids. It was exhausting for him, but Socks felt like he was doing good and making progress so that Robot was no longer a stranger in the hallway.

"Alright, here's someone you can practice on," Socks said at last.

Robot turned his head forward and-No, no, he couldn't be serious.

Socks was leading Robot to the short oak tree where the object of his fascination and terror was reading a book, never the wiser.

From the dugout, Robot had noticed a lot about her. Unlike every other human they had encountered that hour, the brunette with the braces was quiet and all alone and reading her book, as if the very relaxation came not from the beauty of the sunlight and the weather but from the ability to zone out from the endless racket that went on around her. But now as he drew close to her, her eyebrows were narrowed, and she looked agitated.

"Hey, Shannon," Socks said to her, as easily as he would talk to Mitch or Cubey. "Feeling good about the Constitution Test next month?"

"Ugh," she shifted forward from leaning against the tree, dropping the book on the ground, which Robot now realized was not some novel, but a hardcover version of the United States Constitution booklet all 7th graders were expected to learn. "It's not sinking in, dude. Too many amendments. I'm going to fail this thing for sure." She pressed her palms to her eyes.

"Well, don't worry about it," Socks told her calmly. "You're probably going to do better than me, anyway."

"How much have you studied?" she asked softly without removing her hands.

"Zero and zilch," he said, with a wink directed at Robot.

"That doesn't make me feel any better," she said in a deadpan voice. Yet when she looked up, she had a grin on her face. If he weren't so wrapped up in the beauty of her motions, Robot would have been envious of Socks having managed to change her mood so easily.

When she finally became aware of Robot standing there, her smile wavered. And upon the instant her eyes met his, Robot's train of thought had a massive collision with a white wall of anxiety. Any feeble preparation he'd done to prepare for this moment was erased from his memory.

"I want you to meet the new kid," Socks slapped him on the back and pointed to the side of his head. "Robot Jones."

Shannon face was unreadable. "Hey... you're-you were the one by the soda machine."

"Yeah, he's-" Socks's eyes popped open. "-Wait, you know him?"

"Not really," Shannon said. She was trying to focus on Socks, but her eyes kept slipping down to Robot's gaze. She appeared uncomfortable. "We've just sort of..."

"Interfaced before." Robot finished without realizing he spoke. Immediately he smacked a hand against his mouth to prevent further speech.

"Yeah," Shannon replied, slowly. "So, you can talk?"

Shannon and Socks both looked at Robot. Getting irritated of being asked this question repeatedly, Robot let go of his mouth. "Of course I can talk." As if saying so to her meant he never had to say it again. He kept his eyes on Socks because it made it easier to speak without stammering.

Shannon looked a little annoyed. "Then how come when I asked if you were OK, you just spazzed out?"

"I-uh," Robot didn't know how to reply to that.

"Go easy on him, Shannon, he's new here," Socks told her. "I've been showing him around the school and stuff."

"Uh, huh?" she nodded slowly. She appeared as if she was seriously trying to determine for herself if the kid in front of her was an actual, live robot. Under her scrutinizing gaze, Robot thought he was shrinking. By the time the bell rang for passing period, he felt as tall as a pebble. "Look, I have to get to my next class," she said, taking her book and standing up. "I'll see you later, Socks. See you... uh..."

"R-Robot Jones," the automaton finally spoke up.

Shannon cringed upon hearing the sound of his voice again. She bit her knuckle with her large buck teeth. "Err... yeah. See ya..."

She took of with a haste that sent storm clouds rumbling through Robot's mind.

"Well, that was bad," Socks said, playfully. "But whatever, it's just practice. You'll get better by the time we talk to _your_ girl."

Robot wasn't concerned with diverting his speculation about who his crush was at that moment. "How do you know her?" he demanded.

"Who, Shannon?" he asked, looking back and watching her walk away. "She and I used to live next door to each other. I moved away after my little brother was born, but we still talk to each other sometimes."

Robot's eyes narrowed. "How so?" he asked, on the edge of angry suspicion.

"Well, I say 'hi' to her in the hallway. And sometimes we talk in Social Studies."

"That's all?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh," he felt relieved. "So you are not her designated life partner, then."

"Gross, no!" Socks yelled. "Anyway-I gotta go to math class and annoy the crap out of Stuart. Later, Robo-dude."

Socks left Robot standing in the middle of the courtyard, not caring if he was late to class and punished for it.

 _I don't get it. What happened? When she first talked to me, she seemed so... different._

Something had changed once Robot had spoken directly at her. It was as if his harsh, robotic voice had quickly destroyed any suspicion that he was a mere kid in a costume, and with that realization came no desire to interact with him.

Robot might just have called it quits right then and there, but then he remembered that first encounter with her. He remembered being blown away by the intense utilization of metal in her body. And who was the first person at Polyneux to acknowledge "the robot" with the slightest bit of concern for him? It was not Socks, though he was good to him. It was...

 _Shannon._ Such an ordinary name cascaded down the pleasure sensors of his antennae with every letter.

He knew that somewhere under that reluctance was the girl who had so kindly greeted him on his first horrible at that school, and he was determined to find that girl, because he feared he would never find another like her.

He needed to speak to her again—alone. It was the only way he would know.

* * *

 **Finally I get to submit some TRULY ancient Rhannon stuff. In this one, Socks introduces Robot to his crush-accidentally. Hope the revision of this is decent.**

 **Comment/Critique are always helpful!**

 ** _Whatever Happened to Robot Jones?_ © Greg Miller & Cartoon Network**


	4. Chapter 4: Strange Walks Her Home

He got his chance the next Monday after eight period.

The last bell had rung over five minutes ago, and the halls were quiet, as nearly all the kids had hurried outside to soak up as much good weather as they had left before the fall chill set in.

Robot, who couldn't be bothered to run, took his time leaving his last to catch his bus on the other end of the building. As he walked at a comfortable pace, he could hear nothing but the sound of his own metal feet clanking on the floor, until a familiar one-clank, one-clop combination came into range.

He halted, set down his book, and following the sound, he diverted from his normal path down a hall to his left, passed lockers, down three stairs and up to a pair of double doors, one of which had been shut while the other remained open. Robot ran up to the closed door, and extending his neck, peeked through the slim glass window on the door's edge.

On the other side near the bathrooms, bent over the water fountain with her back towards him was Shannon—just as he suspected. In a school of humans in rubber shoes, Robot could identify the distinct singular clink of her prosthetic foot a mile away.

 _Alright, there she is._

With every step he took towards her, he commanded himself to talk. But with only a few steps behind her, he couldn't so much as squeak. Even his footsteps had grown unusually quiet around her. _Come on, already. Just say it. Just say her name!_

" _Shannon_ ," he shouted, at the excitement of saying her name for the first time. He clasped his hands over his mouth.

Now, Robot had a voice that was, what some humans would call "uncanny." So whereas if another voice had piped up behind her, she may not have reacted in the way that she did: As it was, she jumped, her hand suddenly jerked the knob on the fountain, and the water jumped and squirted her right between the eyes. She gasped, spat and coughed. Robot winched as she threw her hands up to wipe away the water from her eyes.

By the time she bore down on him with angry eyes, he could barely squeak again. "Sorry."

"It's you again," she said with a sigh. "What do you want?" she demanded, tugging at the now wet and tight neck of her sweater.

"I just-I would like to... er... it was... nice," he forced of himself, "To speak with you the other day, Shannon."

"Uh, yeah?" she replied with suspicion in her tone.

"And for, um, showing concern for me on my first day here. I apologize for not replying to you that day."

"Huh?" She now looked genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Surely you remember," he said, biting his lip in between each comma, "You encountered me next to the refreshment dispenser machine unit and... I... "

"Oh right!" she said. For a moment, she looked down at her sloppy sweater self-consciously. "What... about that?

"I was getting to that," Robot said, nervously. "What I meant to say was that you asked if I was alright, and I did not reply. I meant to explain that the reason why I did not reply to you was that I had had an awful day-"

"Uh-huh," she nodded slowly.

"... and, well, I was brought up not to lie. But you see, I was also _programmed_ with the knowledge that it is impolite to reply with "negative" when a person asks you how you are doing. So, uh, yes. That is why I could not reply," he lied. "I could not be rude, and I could also-"

"Robot, I appreciate the apology" she broke in, suddenly peering down the hallway for something that Robot later learned was a clock-"but I've gotta go—wait, did you hear that?"

Both bot and girl listened carefully to the distant sound of a revving engine, then ran back up the three stairs and looked out the window.

"Aw, crap!" she cried.

From the window, they could see the buses had already started to move from their parking space outside the school.

"Wait!" Shannon shouted.

She abandoned Robot and ran back down the steps, though heavy wood doors leading into a back staircase. Robot followed, watching with amazement as he burst through the doors after her, leaned over the side of the railing and saw the girl swarm down the four flights of stairs in mere moments. Initially, he was afraid she would trip in her frantic rush, but it appeared that she was well qualified to run at the marathon speeds she was going. Her prosthesis, which looked difficult to manage in walking, appeared to be a boon for her as she dashed down the stairs effortlessly. Robot was frozen over the ledge in awe.

 _She's fast._

He'd never seen a human move so quickly on their own feet before. It had to be that metal leg—how else could she pull off such an superhuman feat of speed? But when he sensed she was advanced, he had no idea that she was capable of anything like that.

Moments later, Robot bounded down the stairs after her, pushing open the doors and the bottom, slamming thought the front door, and joining Shannon at her side on the grass outside the school. But by the time they made it outside, it was too late. The last bus drove away, leaving just a few scattered kids hanging outside the building, walking or waiting for another ride.

When Robot finally caught up with her, she was breathing hard, hands on her knees. "Great."

"I apologize," Robot said quietly. "Again."

There was a quiet pause, where Robot gazed away, looking to the sky. Before long, he snapped his head back to her with a perky, well-meaning smile.

"On the bright side," he said, his good mood instantaneously recovered, "It is a lovely day for a walk, isn't it?"

Shannon turned her head to the road, noticing the baby blue sky and perfectly white clouds on the horizon, then slowly turning back. "You're not wrong," she told him, coolly.

Truthfully, Shannon had briefly considering walking home that day, anyway. Looking out the window in seventh period made her long for fresh air and sunshine. Of course, she wouldn't be home as fast as if she took the bus, and her mother might worry when she wouldn't come though the door at exactly three thirty-two, but Shannon didn't care that much about her mother's worries these days. She was _that_ age.

"Better start now," she said harshly, tossing her wet hair behind her head.

Not three seconds after Shannon started down the sidewalk, the automaton's voice rang out yet again. "... Wait, hold up!" Robot called from behind.

Shannon stooped and turned half her body around. "What is it?" she asked impatiently.

"It's just..." the little automaton said, slowly approaching her with clanking baby steps on the concrete. "It's kind of late... and... all other human units has already returned home. What I mean is..." he fiddled with his claws. There was an opportunity in this and he was not about to miss it. "You might now require some company to get you home. And as I've heard in human ritual, it wouldn't be responsible of a male unit to let a female unit depart on foot unattended."

The girl's eyes popped. "Oh, no, Robot, that really isn't necessary..."

Just as she raised her prosthetic leg in the other direction, Robot hurried into her path to stop her from taking another step. "But we are going the same direction anyway, and I want to make sure you arrive home safely. Besides, it _is_ my fault. At least let me make up for it by doing this. Would you?" he folded his claws together, "Please?"

After a moment of consideration, she exhaled loudly. It didn't seem fair to be doing a favor for Robot after he'd just messed up her afternoon, but Shannon was getting pretty darned used to bad luck. And there was something about him that made it so hard to say no. Something so undeniably sincere and, if she were to be honest, _sweet._ "Well, if we're going the same way, I guess it really wouldn't make a difference..."

Robot's face was taken over by an enormous smile.

"But no holding hands," she pointed him down "... And could you, um, not smile like that. It's kind of creeping me out."

Robot obeyed her wish and dropped the smile like a sack of bricks. But somewhere on the inside, there was an imaginary Robot giddily jumping on a mattress.

At first, the walk itself was silent, save for the chirp of the birds and the sounds of metal feet clanking side-by-side on the sidewalk. It was bright daylight in a suburb not particularly known for crime, so there was really no reason Shannon had to be escorted home. It was even early enough that younger kids had barely begun to trickle outside to play in the driveway of their houses after their afternoon snacks.

Despite all this, Shannon didn't mind the walk with Robot. Instead of carrying on stammered-talking, Robot remained fairly quiet, as if he was taking the task of getting her home very seriously-and therefore not annoying her. But she failed to notice that every time they reached a new block, Robot gazed Shannon's way, wishing desperately she'd find an excuse to look back at him, no matter what it was.

And what _Robot_ failed to notice was that whenever she chanced a look his direction, he was looking forward, or down at his claws. Fingers?

Finally, Robot had noticed, and followed her eyes right back up his arm, his shoulder, and to his brilliant optics. The two beacons that made her, with one look, so doubtful about limited sentience in machines every time. Even though he was a machine, there was real curiosity stitched into his eyes. "What?" he managed to choke out. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, it's just..." She started, feeling her walking slow alongside him. "Why didn't they give you hands?"

Robot came to a complete halt, leaving Shannon to walk a few steps before turning around.

The automaton, who had been nearly floating in his excitement of being so close to his crush, felt the crushing weight of gravity suddenly smack down on every inch of his metallic body, like falling back to earth. When he looked again at the appendages at the ends of his arms, it was like he'd never really seen them before. And a horrifying realization sank in. He looked like looking back up at Shannon's hands confirmed it.

 _She is superior to other humans, at least she seems... I thought her metal content made her as sophisticated as I. I thought she was made for me. But how can we be equals when I don't even have..._

He was running. Running straight ahead. In a moment's notice, he went from standing perfectly still, to running faster than any kid in her previous classes could ever manage. Propelled by the very fear of his own stupidity. Shannon sputtered a non-translatable objection to his abandonment of her before it dawned on her that she would have to go after him. And then she did just that.

Two blocks of nonstop sprinting. Robot had the head start, and his lung-less young robot boy propelled him an impressive distance ahead of the girl. But Shannon's feat of timing down the staircase back at school wasn't a freak incident. She proved her speed on her feet by recreating it as she chased him horizontally down the blocks she knew so well growing up.

It was a good thing she chose to get her grade in gym class instead of ditching the class like some of the other girls did.

 _Drat, she's fast,_ Robot thought, looking behind himself only once.

But Shannon was already starting to pant by the time a four way intersection came into her view. Robot had tore through two blocks and the alley streets that cut between them, not bothering to look either way for a car pulling out in front of him, let alone slow down. Lucky for him, there was no signs of cars anywhere, even as Shannon herself look left and right before running across. But seeing him get near that intersection made her throat go tight. Many a careless biker had been struck and knocked off their wheels by a car making a left hand turn at that intersection. And Robot was not even bothering to look down the one-way streets. To the right, the path was blocked by wall of bricks cut into the earth, and carried on so far towards the edge of the street that it would prevent a car turning from seeing a pedestrian begin to cross. She didn't know who would take more injury, that four foot tall boy made out of metal or a regular sedan, but all she knew was that if a car came turning right as he crossed, he was toast. Double toast.

"Wait," she said, desperately trying to form words between sharp inhales. "S-Stop!"

Robot was inches from the street when his feet came to a grinding halt on the soft ground. He couldn't move, as if the command had some sort of power over him.

Before long, Shannon skidded to a stop just behind him. Seeing he was safe, she slowed her pace until she was just a foot behind him. His back was turned from her, eyes on the street. The awkwardness that hung between them was heavier than the afternoon sun, and Shannon was beginning to find her wet collar irritating again. "Why did you...?" She was going to ask why he ran, but then decided she'd rather not know, and asked the greater pressing question at the moment. "Why?"

Robot, feet glued to the ground, turned and looked up at Shannon with a look of shame. "You command me."

"I didn't-I didn't tell you to run off like that!" Shannon choked out, in between heavy breathing.

"No!" Robot said, fearfully. "You... told me to stop. And I obeyed."

Shannon's pace began to slow. A nearby robin "Obeyed. You mean," She waited a bit to see if he would correct her..= You stopped when I told you to," she said, "Because you _have_ to?"

"Yes, of course." Robot looked quizzical. "You _do_ know about the Laws of Robots in society?"

"Rules of... _what_?" She shook her head. Talking with smart kids sometimes made her head hurt. Talking with _this kid_ made her feel like she was speaking another language. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Robot came down from his embarrassing stunt enough at this point to turn and look her in the eyes. "The Robotic codes of human integration into society. The codes say that a robot must obey a human's command, unless that robot logically deduces that following through with that command is illogical or dangerous." Robot twisted his toe into the pavement, rolling a pebble as he did. "And, you were only attempting to protect me."

It hadn't even occurred to him that he was obeying a human's command, just that he was obeying _Shannon's_ command. She blinked twice before slapping her face. "So let me get this straight: Because you're a robot and I'm a human, you have to do _anything_ I say?"

"Anything that I admit makes sense logically and does not put you or others in imminent danger," Robot confirmed, reluctantly. "Yes, I have to."

Shannon wasn't a stupid girl, despite how many times she felt like one. She could read between the lines of 'makes sense logically' to decide that part of the exception to the rule with something along the lines of, 'I will not serve you hand and foot just because you ask me to, obviously.' But even then, the idea seemed ridiculous. "But, why would that rule even exist?" Shannon asked. "Would it really matter to anybody if you didn't listen to some stupid girl made you do? I mean, who really keeps tabs on everything you do?"

Robot grimaced, reaching up to tap the side of his head, next to his record-capable eyes. The eyes that recorded almost everything he did. "I do."

To this, Shannon had no response. It hadn't seemed obvious Robot recorded everything he himself did until he pointed it out, but maybe she really was just dim. A robot like him was bound to work as his own camera: A constant diary that he had no choice but to keep, and probably was not respected with privacy.

She ran a finger through her hair, wiping away the sweat collecting at her forehead beneath the metallic band. "I've been around robots before," Shannon confessed, "but I've never seen a robot like you before. Somehow I doubted you were the same-I mean, that you had to follow all the same rules."

Robot fiddled with his claws, rubbing his toe in the ground, gazing back at her and away from her every three seconds, and then returning to her leg. "I have never seen a _human_ like yourself, either." A weak smile found its way to his lips. "But I don't believe it would be unreasonable to assume you too must follow the same codes of ever junior high school human."

Shannon shook her head. "No... you wouldn't..."

Robot turned pink. How foolish he had been back there. To loose all hope of connecting with this human on an emotional level just because he wasn't equipped with enough digits. Even if between all their prior experiences, robot and human, they had nothing to relate to, and even if he was at a fundamental level nothing but a servant to her, there was always one thing that made them equal: Junior High School. This is what set him apart from other robots. This is where he met her. And this is what sparked the hope inside again that she would ever feel the same way about him that he felt about her.

She followed his gaze down to her own feet. Realizing that she knew he was staring, Robot stammered. "I-I-I-w-was just looking to see if my toes were scuffed." If this couldn't get any more awkward, now they were both staring at the robot's feet. Unlike most domesticated units that rolled around on wheels, Robot had legs, which he was now very grateful for. It made him feel just that much more relatable to humans.

Shannon got up close to him. She looked back up at his claw-like fingers with a grimace.

"I'm sorry I asked," she said, gently. "It would be no different than you asking me what happened to me."

Robot pulled his hand back to his chest. He knew that, for whatever reason, the designers did not want to give him human-style hands, two sets of five opposable digits, like his father had one. Should he tell her that?

He was dying to know how she—a seemingly normal human being- got so metallic. Upon closer inspection, Robot could see that the steel wires wrapping around her mouth and her teeth was some form of medical orthodontist wear. This wasn't much different from many students at Polyneux who wore simple braces on their teeth. But that leg... that was unusual. She was the only human at school who wore something like that. Come to think of it, Robot had never seen anybody with an artificial limb before. He was burning to know where it came from, and how a girl so young got stuck with one.

"Can I see?"

Robot paused, and processed this. It was a command, not a request. He had to follow through. But he was stalling. With his eyes, he scanned her outstretched hand for danger. The scan, of course, came back clear. Not even traces of overwhelming germs on her skin, like most humans.

She took it without fear, without shaking. Suddenly, the very thing that Shannon had ordered him not to was the thing she had just ordered him to do-hold her hand. Well, technically, s _he_ was holding _his_ hand. Maybe that gave her a sense of control in the moment.

And Robot didn't have nearly the courage in the moment to ask what had happened to give her a prosthetic limb.

All was quiet, except for the hiss of the wind against Robot's hearing receptor, and a car rolling through street somewhere far away. This was by far the longest time a human had ever touched him, and at first, he was startled by the warmth radiating from her hand onto his... hand?

"What's your name?"

Robot snapped to attention, looking into her eyes as she continued to grasp his claws. "You've already been told my designation: It is Robot Jones."

"But 'Robot' can't be your real name," Shannon argued. "You live with other robots, right? Your mom and dad? They have to call you something different. What's your real name?"

The little automaton flushed. No human before, and none after, for that matter, would confront him with this question. "That's the only name I've ever known

Shannon's voice softened. "Oh."

Robot gazed down at the ground. "I'm sorry to have reacted the way that I did. I s-suppose we should be going then, yes?"

He turned and started walking again, but Shannon did not follow him. "Robot?"

"We don't have time for dilly-dallying, Shannon. I need to get you home-"

"Robot, this _is_ my street!" she yelled from afar.

Robot stopped and whipped his head around, seeing a little father behind him, she already had her sneaker-wearing foot on the first concrete step of the pink house. "Oh..."

She shook her head and reached for the door. "Thanks," She called to him, more calmly this time. "For walking me."

"N-no problem. S-So! I'll ... uh..."

She turned around with the indication of her expression that this would be the last time she would answer to him.

"... I... I will... see you around school, then?"

She rolled her eyes, and turned the knob so she could get inside.

 _Of course you will,_ Robot scolded himself mentally. _She must_ really _be convinced of your superiority now._

Shannon didn't leave room for him to address her again. She threw open the door and flew inside. The proceeding slam was heard by her relieved mother.

"You're a little late, hon," Mrs. Westerburg called from the kitchen. "What happened to the bus?"

"Missed it," she said, slamming the front door. "Had to walk instead."

"I was getting worried, but I can't say I'm not glad your home now," she told her, emerging from the kitchen with a dry rag in her wet hands. Mrs. Westerburg jotted up and kissed her daughter on the cheek, which she rubbed off the moment her mother turned away.

Shannon looked out the window, to find that her robotic escort was still standing outside her house, his eyes glazed over.

"What are you looking at?" her mother asked.

"Just some guy who walked with me," Shannon muttered. "He's waiting to make sure I got in OK." _And now he won't leave. What is wrong with him?_

"Oh, that was nice for him. New friend?"

"Hardly," Shannon said, leaving the window, letting the curtain flutter.

The dismissive small warning flag up in the back of Mrs. Westerburg's head. Not enough to make her say anything-Shannon had always talked to her mother dismissively, ever since she became a teenager. But knowing she had already taken an interest to boys was enough to sent Mrs. Westerburg quietly over to the window herself and pulling back the curtain to check out this boy. But all her suspicion washed away and made way for a new kind of funny feeling once she saw that that lingering figure on the sidewalk only had the most basic shape and size of a boy her daughter's age. Beyond that, Shannon's escort looked very much like a robot.

Exactly like a robot, in fact. "Shannon, is _that_ the boy who-?"

"Look, I-I'm feeling kind of tired," she said, avoiding a long explanation, "I'm going up to rest for a little while, okay?"

She smiled again and turned around. "Okay, sweetie. I'll call you when dinner's ready." She hugged her and sent her off up the stairs. With Shannon out of sight, Mrs. Westerburg peeked through the blinds again and observed the tiny robot disappear from the horizon. Of course she was intimidated. Her protective motherly instincts were the first to respond to this realization about her daughter's escort. But even in her distance, she could see the curiosity on his face, the pure innocence that appeared to be sincere.

Right now, he scanned the house from chimney to ground, gazing back up at the roof, when his eyes came down. As if he had a sixth sense that he was being watched, his neck bent straight and his face came to forward attention, and he immediately made eye contact with the mom staring at him thought the bent blinds. He took off running, probably afraid of getting into trouble. Normally, Mrs. Westerburg might take this as a sign to be concerned, but something about him—there was a feeling he gave her that was all right.

She stood up straight, grinning from ear to ear. She went back to continue cleaning the kitchen, reflecting on how far technology has come in her lifetime.

* * *

 **This chapter doesn't have as strict a focus as the others, so sorry if it rambles in places, but we'll let it rip!** ** _  
_**

 ** _Whatever Happened to Robot Jones?_ © Greg Miller & Cartoon Network**


	5. Chapter 5: Strange Flies the Coop

Nobody would have guessed that the kind, caring hands that fed the rare bird was none other than that of a robot.

On the third floor, where it was high enough to reach out of a window and touch the tops of the tallest oak trees, a little figure thrust open the windows, gazing at the sunset coming up over the hillside, like he did every morning.

The baby eagle sat on the edge of his claw, ready to take his daily tour around the area. A little, wide-eyed, pre-Polyneux Robot Jones looked down at him. "You are fortunate, avian specimen. You get to leave this dusty, smelly place every day," he said while letting the bird hop off of his finger and onto the window sill, "while I have to stay around and clean and wait for orders."

The baby eagle chirped. He was eager to get away. Robot Jones gazed longingly at the sunrise. Though he knew from books that it was impossible, he could swear that if he ran to it fast enough and long enough—if he took off running right now—he could reach it. _Sigh._ He was so desperate for a game like that. And someone to play with.

The bird chirped happily and took off for the sky. Robot didn't realize it was an oddity that the eagle chose to return to the warehouse every day, despite being let free every morning. An oddity that he kept coming back. Was food so hard to find in this part of America? The Joneses had a grand supply of birdseed left by the same person who abandoned the bird—presumed for all this time to be the same person who abandoned the robots as well.

Robot looked behind himself, making sure his parents weren't awake yet, and then quietly as he could, unscrewed the bars on the window, using his favorite red and black screwdriver. He dropped one of the screws of the floor, making himself flinch, but then continued his work. When it was done, he carefully set the impressively heavy bars onto the floor, and then slipped out.

The day was bright, the hills seemed endless by that little house in the woods. With a satchel on his shoulder—it wasn't bought for him. It had always just been there in that house, empty—Robot made his little morning walk through the woods.

Nearby men who walked through those woods would sometimes recall a strange, huge, yellow eyed creature in the shadows that would give them quite a scare, only to disappear at mechanical sounds, perhaps that of a car. After repeated sightings, few of them suggest there was something out there in those woods, alien or otherwise terrifying, but the general agreement was that if anything, it was "one damn big owl."

"Eagles aren't native to these parts," said one woodcutter to another, referring to the other figure they saw soar through the skies that was, indeed, a bird.

"So who brought it here?" replied the other, sarcastically.

"Well, obviously, someone's keeping it as a pet," defended the first. "Or somethin.'"

"But who?"

From this point, with no clues, the conversation of the birds died.

Meanwhile, back at the house, Robot replaced the bird in his night cage. Though the bird was most definitely not his pet-it was unheard of, actually, for a robot to gain any benefit from owning an animal themselves-he _was_ responsible for taking care of it. For that when the human who owns this house returns, they would have a healthy animal.

Besides, little Robot couldn't quite wrap his head around the justification that the humans used to become master of another living creature. For Robot, it was not so much that he was substitute controller of the bird, but the substitute servant of its well being.

That night, like any other night, Little Robot would not go to sleep easily.

"Tell me the story first!" he tugged on his mother's apron.

"Which story?" asked Mrs. Jones, who, while it wasn't obvious, was very tired. Trying to maintain a house that ran on its own power was quite exhausting. His father was already asleep and charging.

"You know which one," Robot insisted with a bashful smile. "My story. "

"Oh, _that_ story," she said. "Don't you ever get tired of hearing that one?"

"Negative," said her son, "It's my favorite!"

She beeped softly in agreement. "And mine, too."

She picked him up in her gas pump arms. "Well," she started off towards his room, "One cold day in January, your father and I looked in a box. And inside the box were a bunch of special blue planning papers with silver ink written all over them. They were plans for another robot, but not just any old robot. Which robot?"

"Me!" he answered, kicking his feet excitedly.

"Exactly," confirmed Mrs. Jones, "Before the doctor left, he had left your father and I with a very important job. That job, we realized, was to finish his last project."

"Which was…?" Robot asked with anticipation, already knowing the answer.

"You! And do you know what that means?"

"What?"

"You are very special, little Robot," Rosetta went on. "You are the doctor's very last project ever."

"Wow," Robot beamed. To have such a claim to such a fantastic man of myth was rewarding every time he heard it. However, just because she was a robot, Rosetta was not a mother who was excused to tell little white lies when it became necessary. If she were being completely frank with Robot, he was _not_ the very last invention of the mythical Dr. Jonses's career. Rather, he was the very last invention of his that was ever _found._. Mrs. Jones, Mr. Jones, as well as the entire human employ of JNZ robotics was well aware of yet another invention of the missing Dr. Jones. But what "it" was completely unknown to anybody but the very top of the corporate ladder. And as dust settled on every untouched cranny of the old inventor's home, it was assumed by many that the overseers would either never find it, or at least never tell that they did. Whatever "it" was, it might as well not exist. So giving Robot the satisfaction of believing he was the very last thing made by this genius among men was a small crime that would give him a lot of confidence, at least until he got older.

"Mom unit," said Robot slowly, "When do you think Dr. Jones will come back for us?"

Suddenly, Mrs. Jones became melancholy. "I don't know if he will ever come back, Robot."

"Why not?"

"Well, it has been about five years since his departure. Many things have happened. You," she gestured to his tiny, unchanging figure, "have grown. "

Robot stood up in bed. "Someone ought to go look for him again!"

"Maybe so," she said, not acknowledging to her son the Federal agents who were trying to track the phantom man down for the past half decade. "The humans that took over don't very well listen to us much, anyways."

Robot sat and thought, pinching his blanket. "I would go look for him," he said finally.

"I think you'd be able to find him, too," she said, warmly. "Someday. But right now, a little robot needs to recharge after a long day." Robot should have been even more tired than Mrs. Jones thought, given that he snuck out early every morning to explore the surrounding forest.

Yet it was only when she brought attention to the time that his eyes become heavy. "I hope I find him," Robot remarked sadly. "I would have so many questions for him." "I bet you would," said his mother. She continued to gently approve of his aspirations until he finally fell into sleep mode. At that point, she turned off the lights and shut the door. Truthfully, Rosetta had no wish to meet the Dr. again, nor did she fear it. She knew what her Little Robot was meant for, and that was all that mattered to her.

At least, she believed she knew.

* * *

 **A really quick short I threw together.** **In this flashback to Robot's younger days, Robot thinks about his creator, (OC) Harris Jones and where he might have gone off to. This is also the first time I tried to introduce a bird which I hope to bring in later fanfiction as a symbol for Robot.  
**

 ** _Whatever Happened to Robot Jones?_ © Greg Miller & Cartoon Network  
**


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